


we could be the way forward (and i know i'll pay for it)

by eg1701



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Break Up, Sort Of, of course, waystar is an industrialized farming corporation instead, with a happy ending, you know how i am, you know the drill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:34:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29471055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eg1701/pseuds/eg1701
Summary: Greg buys a run down house in Montana to fix up, with the hope that the time away will clear his head and put some distance between him and his heartbreak. But in the end, it doesn't matter anyway.
Relationships: Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans
Comments: 45
Kudos: 32





	1. (now i know) i'm never gonna love again

**Author's Note:**

> work & chapters titles all from taylor swift's "cowboy like me"
> 
> this isn't technically a brokeback mountain au and it's not technically a notebook au but its kind of a both of them squashed together and smacked with more fluff than angst

_now_

The humid air of Montanna was almost oppressive, this late in the summer, and Greg’s shirt was starting to stick to his back as he stepped out of the truck. He shouldn’t have worn denim, but it’d been the first shirt he’d pulled out of his closet that morning. 

“Mr. Hirsch?” a man called from the porch of the house-- if he could even call it that. To call it a “fixer-upper” was being polite. It was as rundown as Greg felt most of the time. He would have probably called it "barely standing" or "a fucking mess" but those weren't really selling points/ Greg recognized Harvey’s voice from the phone call the other day. 

Greg slammed the car door shut and nodded, “We spoke on the phone?”

He was an older man, greying and balding, but he had a spring in his step as he came over to shake Greg’s hand and clap another on his shoulder, “We sure did son. This is the place. I told you it had long since passed it prime, but a young man like yourself should have it shiny and new in, oh, I’d say six months to a year?”

“Sure,” Greg replied, pulling out his checkbook, “That’s fine. I’m sure I can, like, probably handle it.”

“No Mrs. Hirsch to help?” Harvey asked, glancing back at the truck like Greg might have left his wife in the backseat. 

“Just me,” Greg said, “How do you spell your last name for the check?”

Harvey frowned at him, probably because a young and seemingly healthy man was buying a shitty rundown ranch and looked like he was one bad day away from pitching himself off the nearest mountain. But Greg wasn’t going to reassure him of anything. 

This would be good for him. Everybody said so. Well. His _mother_ said so, but she was pretty much the only person he had to worry over him, and she was probably right. The fresh air, the time away from everything and everyone would give him a new start. He could put all his anger into the house repairs and maybe forget enough to be happy again.

Harvey spelled out his last name, Greg signed the check, folded it in half, and handed it over. 

“If you need anything,” Harvey tucked the check into his shirt pocket, “My number’s on the card I gave you in my office. The wife’s always looking for someone to fill out our dinner table, if you want a home cooked meal?”

“Sure,” Greg pulled on his sleeve, “Maybe I’ll call. I’m not, uh, super sociable I guess?”

“I’d imagine it’d be quiet to live out here. Hard to be that alone,” Harvey glanced around the desolation and whistled, “Not much out here for a man but his thoughts and the stars.”

“That’s all I want right now,” Greg said, praying to anybody that would listen that Harvey would take his check and get into his car and leave. Greg wanted very much to be alone, even if the house was broken down and probably wasn’t much more than a tent when it came to protection at night. But that was fine. He’d slept in tents before. Tomorrow morning, he’d get started on the roof and that’d be the beginning of that. 

The beginning of something _new_ , something quiet, and something far away from the heartbreak he’d been running from.

***

Greg woke up with the dawn, only because there were no curtains and his bedroom faced East apparently. With a groan, he sat up and stretched. There were three bedrooms in the house-- actually it seemed like it had been a beautiful house once upon a time, but had fallen into disarray years ago. The roof leaked, the floors were coming up in droves, and half the appliances didn’t work. Greg had spent an hour dragging his things into what he planned to make the living room yesterday, and thought he might be able to get them mostly unpacked today.

He popped into the bathroom to freshen up before he began his day. It was true that his mother had said this would be good for him, but she’d also fretted for three straight days about how lonely he would be before she went back to Canada. 

_“I worry you’ll be _too_ alone,” she said. They’d been in a cheap diner, his mother sitting across from him, watching as he poked at his lunch with her eagle eye, “Won’t you take someone with you?”_

But there wasn’t anyone to take with him. Tom was married and he wasn’t leaving Shiv for Greg. He had made that _abundantly_ clear. It wasn’t like Greg really considered a serious relationship. It was stupid-- kid stuff you know? But then he and Tom had spent the summer together, had spent nights together behind Shiv's back and he thought… maybe this would be alright?

Greg had always been too optimistic. And Tom had gotten married and spent two months telling Greg _this has to be the last time, I’m married now_ until finally it really _was_ the last time. But then Greg had tortured himself for another year, lurking in the same fucking town, working at the same fucking buissness like some kind of lovesick schoolboy.

Trudging out into this mound of boxes, still a bit asleep, Greg picked the first one he saw up, and set it on the coffee table. It _was_ nice that the house had come furnished, even if the furniture looked like it could have been built by Lincoln. He waited to see if the table would collapse, and when it didn’t, he ripped the tape off and looked inside.

Just his fucking luck it was that the box was full of clothes, including the shirt Tom had left in his things, and Greg had… _forgotten_ to return. He shut the box, and slid it behind the sofa. 

He could figure that out later. Instead, he dug around his sloppily labeled boxes, found everything he needed to make a cup of coffee and didn’t think about much else until he had the warm mug in his hands. 

“Fuck me,” he muttered, after the coffee had cooled enough for him to drink some of, and he’d realized that _maybe_ he’d bitten off more than he could chew. He wasn’t much of a carpenter or a builder, and this house was probably in worse shape than he’d been led to believe, but the cheap price and the _distance_ from everything and everyone was enough to make up his mind. 

***

Greg knew he’d been naive when his mother sent him down to Texas to make nice with his maternal side of the family. But he’d been too poor to say no, and thoroughly tired of her begging him to _do_ something with his life. So yes, he’d hitchhiked down, unscather, and presented himself in his great uncle Logan’s office as a ready worker. 

Waystar did farms. That was their slogan, though, Greg quickly learned, Waystar _bought_ farms from people who couldn’t afford them, and industrialized everything in their path. They were one of the largest, if not _the_ largest ranching company in the south. Probably in the country and Greg quickly saw why. It was easy to make money if you didn’t give a shit about anybody, and Logan sure didn’t seem to give a shit about anybody.

But someone had to do the dirty work, so he shut his mouth and did as he was told. Mostly because he didn’t know what his mother would say if he lost _another_ job. 

That was how he’d met Tom. And usually, Greg did not make friends with the people he worked with. It wasn’t worth it in the end, because one of them-- usually Greg-- would lose his job and it would be an ordeal. But Tom didn’t appear to understand that Greg was here on a professional level only. 

Logan bought a ranch upstate a month into his working there. Mostly he’d been selling farm equipment because Logan thought he couldn’t fuck that up too bad, but Tom had been banished to see to the ranch’s refurbishing, and ensure that the transition to Waystar’s hands went smoothly. Privately, Greg thought Logan was just looking for excuses to get Tom out of his hair, but he kept that to himself. 

Then Tom had insisted on dragging Greg with him and that was the beginning. 

Sometimes, when he was alone, and it was late, Greg wished he’d never set foot in Logan Roy’s fucking office that early summer morning. 

***

Really, the fixing wasn’t that difficult. It was tedious and time consuming, and sometimes he got hung up on faulty wiring or bum tools, but mostly, Greg’s days were full of work, which was great for his mind. By the time his head hit the pillow at night, he was too tired to even dream. It was the best sleep he'd had in what felt like his entire life. 

The months bled together. He wrote Tom a letter twice a month. It was the one thing he allowed himself. They were always very formal, updates on the house, or polite inquiries into his marriage and family life. Tom wrote back sporadically, but Greg’s schedule was strict. On the first and fifteenth of every month, he dropped a letter in the box outside of the post office in the town. From what he could gather from the replies, Tom was doing well, he and Shiv were still married, no children, Logan was still alive-- his letters were as impersonal as Greg’s. That was for the best. 

Slowly but surely, the house began to come together. The ugly, dirty carpets were torn up, and replaced with inexpensive but firm wood flooring. The sofas were reupholstered, the walls given a fresh coat of paint. He even repaired the cracks in the ceiling and the leaky roof. Actually, it was the first time he’d been proud of anything in his entire life. 

When the house was through with it’s finishing touches-- the railing on the front porch was finally fixed, and the window panes in the kitchen were replaced with new ones-- he went into town without thinking too much, straight into the hardware store.

“Mr. Hirsch!” the man, Al, who’d provided more than his fair share of advice for fixing up old homes, waved from behind the counter, “What can I do for you?”

“Can I get a copy of this key made? You know, in case I lose it?”

“Easy done,” Al held out his hand for the key, “Twenty minutes or so?”

Greg nodded, and jammed his hands in his pockets, feeling his latest letter waiting to be sent. It felt much heavier than the paper it was written on.

When the key was finished, Greg paid, and stepped back out onto the main street. He tucked the key into the envelope, sealed it, and dropped it into the mailbox before he could talk himself out of it. He couldn't give it too much thought. He wanted Tom to have the key, but knew he could _easily_ talk himself out of doing it.

Tom would want to know, he thought, about the ranch. He thought about that afternoon on the porch frequently as he’d worked on his new house. Thought about Tom’s idea of a life in the middle of nowhere, with someone that he loved. It was fucking stupid.

Like Greg was someone that he loved. Greg rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. Tom didn’t love him, he loved his fucking _wife_ and the life they had together. As he pulled into his drive, and got a good look at the house he’d spent so much time and effort putting back together, Greg thought, for the first time, that he hadn’t even done it for himself, in the end. That all of this shit had been for someone who would never know.

What did he think was going to happen? Tom would read about Greg’s new house, and remember what he’d said nearly three years ago? That he was going to leave Shiv and they could… be something? 

He had _always_ been too optimistic.


	2. eyes full of stars (hustling for the good life)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom gets sent upstate to fix up a ranch, and drags Greg along with him

_three years ago_

“The workers aren’t supposed to be here until the morning,” Tom said, holding up a hand to shield his face from the sun. 

Greg frowned at the broken down ranch and then looked over at Tom, “We don’t have to _sleep_ there do we?”

“There’s a guest house that’s been kept in good shape,” Tom replied. He looked down at his clipboard and sighed. Greg watched him pinch the bridge of his nose, chuck the clipboard into the car and sit down in the driver’s seat, feet on the running board, “This is such fucking _bullshit_ Greg.”

“Yeah,” Greg said. There was no point in lying to him. It _was_ bullshit. Tom was Logan’s soon to be son-in-law and there he was in the middle of fucking nowhere. I mean, what the fuck.”

“Maybe it’s good? I mean, maybe it shows you’re, one of them or whatever. You know what I mean?”

“You don’t know anything about this. You’re a fucking moron.”

Greg stared at him. It wasn’t new. Tom had a habit of calling Greg every name in the book. Mostly, Greg just took it. He had learned, quickly, that Tom was deeply uncomfortable in his precarious position mid-level in Waystar. Besides, Greg had been called worse things by worse people. Hell, he’d had worse bosses. 

“Man, look,” Greg pulled open the back of the truck and pulled out Tom’s hat, setting it on his head so Tom didn’t have to squint in the sun anymore, “It’s kind of shitty out here, but least we’re gettin’ paid right? For your wedding?”

“Shiv’s paying for most of it,” Tom frowned, “Well, _Logan’s_ paying for most of it. My parents are buying the wine.”

“Oh that’s nice,” Greg offered.

“Don’t fucking patronize me you piece of shit,” Tom stood up and slammed the truck door shut. He stalked past Greg into the ranch like a child storming off. Greg sighed, and followed him inside.

***

They spent over a week not doing much talking. There were two separate rooms for them to sleep in. Greg ran his errands and passed messages and did as he was asked. 

Tom sulked almost non stopped, and Greg tried not to listen to his arguments over the phone with Shiv that happened almost every night. He had tried to ask, once, if Tom was alright, but Tom had thrown the nearest object-- an empty beer can, half crushed-- and chucked it across the room. Greg ducked so it didn’t hit him the face, and didn’t ask again.

Finally, when Greg thought the cold war between them would kill him, Tom invited him to dinner in the town. The work on the house and ranch was slow going. That was clearly a bone of contention. There were union rules and regulations. Hours they were allowed to work. He’d heard Logan yell about bullshit laws twice over the phone so far. 

“Where are we going?” Greg asked. 

“Somewhere nicer than you’ve ever been in your fucking life, so put on something nice and if you don’t have anything, tell me. I don’t want to be embarassed by a fucking rube.”

“Sure,” Greg replied, thinking this was the strangest way anybody had ever asked him to dinner. 

But sure enough into town they went. Greg put on a suit Tom deemed acceptable, and even the wine list of the restaurant was more money than Greg usually had in his bank account at any one time but Tom was insistent upon the place, and Greg wasn’t about to turn down a paid for meal. 

“I feel like you’re trying to seduce me,” Greg said.

“I am,” Tom replied, not even bothering to look up from the dinner menu. He was pretty sure this was just how Tom was, his strange way of interacting with other adults-- Greg was also pretty sure that Tom hadn’t exactly been popular in school. Greg shrugged. 

Regardless, he didn’t ask Tom to elaborate.

***

The blackout happened a month and a half into the work. Right in the middle of the hottest week so far. With a click, the house went black. Machines shut off, and the head worker came to tell Tom that they couldn’t do work without power. Everything they needed right now ran on power and they’d have to take the time off until the power was back on. That had convinced Tom to stalk into town to shout at the power company who assured him it would be back on as soon as they could get to it, but the heat was doing a real number on their system. 

“Bunch of assholes,” Tom had shouted, the minute he returned to the house. The workers were packing up, out of the heat-- Greg thought they were just using the blackout as an excuse not to work in the heat, and Greg didn’t blame them. The heat was oppressive.

“Here,” he held out a beer bottle to Tom, who was sitting on the front porch step. It was only slightly nicer outside than inside, because of the occasional breeze. But besides that, the world seemed still, “Have a drink.”

“Thanks,” Tom pressed the bottle to his forehead, and Greg sat down, cracking his own beer open.

“The place looks nice,” Greg offered. Tom had been in a generally angry mood the entire trip. And Greg didn’t exactly blame him, “I mean the buildings are coming together, and the house is livable now.”

“I’m his fucking son in law,” Tom replied, like he hadn’t even heard Greg’s compliments, “Or I will be soon enough. His fucking son in law and what does he give me? My own lot? A cushy office job? No, he gives me a shitty broken down ranch to build practically with my own fucking hands and a summer spent not with my fianceė but with her gangly fucking cousin.”

“Sorry,” Greg frowned.

“It’s not your fault. I’m sorry. I shouldn't be so bitter. It’s not your fault.”

“It’s a nice house,” Greg repeated.

“I’d like a house like this,” Tom glanced back, “Well, one with power. But somewhere out in the middle of nowhere. Maybe get a dog or something. I wouldn’t mind building it I guess, with Shiv. Or having a bit of a run down house, so long as it was with someone I loved.”

“I’d like that too,” Greg said, “I don’t think I’d be very good at doing it myself though. I’d probably have to hire somebody but I don’t think I could afford it.”

Tom chuckled, “Greg, I’ve seen your paycheck. You could probably afford it.”

Greg shrugged, and picked at the label on his beer, “It’s important to strategize with money, otherwise they’ll shut off my card again.”

“You’re so melodramatic,” Tom rolled his eyes.

Greg became, at that moment, very aware of how close they were sitting. He would be kidding himself if he said he wasn’t… attracted to Tom. He was. But admitting that was dangerous. Especially if Tom ever found out. He’d tell Logan and Greg would be out on his ass. Waystar was his last hope. There was no way his mother would let him move back home after all the shit he’d fucked up. And it would be well within Tom’s rights, to tell Logan. 

“I mean, it’s not so bad,” Tom shrugged, “I guess you’re not _quite_ as annoying as you could be. I could be stuck with Roman.”

“You think he’s annoying?”

“The most annoying of them all,” Tom took a long sip, “I think he hates me the most.”

“What?”

“Of the Roy siblings. I think Roman hates me the most.”

“Come on man, they don’t _hate_ you.”

Tom glared at him, and Greg could see he really believed it. Whether or not it was true-- Greg wasn’t sure-- Tom felt hated by the Roys.

“You don’t hate me do you Greg?”

Greg shook his head, “You’re pretty much my best friend.”

“That’s nice,” Tom said, glancing out at the skyline. Greg had no idea what was on his mind. He seemed a million miles away.

“Tom?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Tom replied.

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t pry, Gregory.”

And then, Tom did something that Greg could never have anticipated. He turned, took Greg’s face in his hands, and kissed him. Greg was still processing what happened, when Tom pulled away, gaped at him, horrified, and practically bolted inside.

***

Greg hunted through the house to find Tom. He knew he thought he’d fucked up, and Greg had to reassure him that he hadn’t. That in fact, Greg was _dying_ for him to have done just that. He found Tom hiding in his room.

“Look,” he said, when Greg knocked on the open door, “I know that was not right of me to do. I’m sorry. Just… can you pretend it didn’t happen? I don’t know what came over me. Maybe I’m insane.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Greg said, “I wanted you to do that. I’ve _wanted_ you to do that. But I thought, you know, with the wedding and all.”

“It’s kind of complicated,” Tom said. 

They stared at each other across the room, begging the other one to make the first move to break the heavy and terrible silence. 

“What now?” Greg finally asked, shifting his weight awkwardly. He knew he’d break first. He hated the silence.

“I don’t know. I’ve never kissed another man before. I don’t know,” Tom glanced, briefly, at his perfectly made bed, “I don’t know what comes next. _How_ it happens, you know. Do you?”

Greg nodded. He hadn’t really ever expected to talk sex, with Tom, but here they were, standing in his bedroom. 

“Good,” Tom nodded. Cautiously, like some kind of scared fucking animal, he came over and kissed Greg again, softly, his hands settling on Greg’s waist. 

Greg who was still not convinced this wasn’t some kind of dream, wondered if he was going to wake up any time soon. 

“Are you sure?” Greg asked.

“I’m so incredibly fucking sure, and I’m turned on so if we _don’t_ do something soon I might explode.”

Greg chuckled, “Right.”

***

“I’m kind of glad that the workers took off,” Tom muttered. It was the first thing either of them had said in a good five minutes. Greg had been quiet because he’d still been catching his breath. The bedroom was dim in power outage, with the sun sinking behind the curtains. They were sticky and sweaty, and Greg turned, a bit, so they were more face to face.

“Yeah,” Greg brushed a thumb across Tom’s cheek, “Kind of nice.”

“I don’t,” Tom frowned, his brow furrowed, “I didn’t think I would ever-”

“You don’t have to try and explain it if you don’t want to,” Greg said, “I mean, it’s complicated.”

“No it’s not,” Tom shook his head, “I’m tired. Do you think we can sleep a little before dinner?”

“Sure,” Greg said. It was probably better not to make Tom talk about it. Clearly he was working through a lot, “This was alright though? I mean, you don’t regret it?”

“ _Fuck_ no,” Tom chuckled, and as if to prove his point he burrowed down in the covers, and laid his head on Greg’s chest, “Don’t think that alright? Holy fuck Greg, I thought you were a freaky little virgin.”

“I literally don’t know why you thought that,” Greg replied, “Because I told you once I’ve never had a girlfriend? I haven’t ever had one.”

“Semantics,” Tom yawned, “I’m going to sleep. Shut the fuck up.”

***

They fell into something that Greg had never had before. It wasn’t a _relationship_ because Tom was going to marry Shiv in March, and there was a kind of secrecy that kept it from being anything official like that. But Tom moved into Greg’s room every night, long after all of the workers were gone for the day. Greg cooked breakfast in the morning. They spent late hours on the mostly repaired back porch with beer or wine, Tom’s arm around Greg’s shoulders, the stars twinkling above them.

Greg felt like they were the only two people in the world. 

It was late August now, just a few days shy of September. It had been almost four months since he and Tom had been shipped upstate and out of Logan’s hair, and Greg had spent most of the time falling in love with Tom. This, he would not share, because the sex was one thing. It wasn’t a good thing, necessarily, given the engagement, but it was strictly just sex. Greg could not fall in love with Tom.

The work would be done soon, another week or two, and Greg felt his heart sink at the news.

“We can finally get out of middle of fucking nowhere,” Tom said happily over lunch, “I can’t wait to be around fucking city people again. It’s depressing out here.”

“Yeah,” Greg said, pulling on his sleeve, “It’ll be nice.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Tom frowned, "Why are you acting like this?

“Nothing,” Greg shook his head quickly.

“Oh,” Tom cracked open a coke bottle, “You want to keep sleeping together.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to say it. We don’t have to stop it.”

Greg frowned, “What about Shiv?”

“Don’t worry your pretty head about Shiv,” Tom said, in a slightly condescending tone. Greg felt pathetic enough to not comment back, “There’s an understanding between us before the wedding you know? A last bit of fun or whatever.”

“Really?”

Tom nodded, “So don’t worry about it alright? We can continue this in civilization.”

And even though Greg should have probably said he didn’t like it that Tom was engaged, and he didn’t think it would be fair to her to go behind her back. It was cheating wasn’t it? Having an affair? 

But Tom was smiling, and Greg nodded. He would be selfish for a bit. That was all.


	3. (never thought i'd meet you here) it could be love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone unexpected shows up at Greg's place.

_now_

Greg pulled his truck down the road to his house, only, to his own shock, mildly surprised to see another truck parked outside. It wasn’t Henry’s, who still occasionally stopped by to peek at the refurbished house out, or to drop off meals his wife had “accidentally” made too much of. Figuring it was probably one of his distant neighbors, or a delivery from the town, he parked, grabbed his grocery bag from the back seat and went inside. 

“Uh,” Greg said, standing in the middle of the kitchen, gaping at fucking _Tom_ who was standing there like a deer in the headlights, like he wasn’t in Greg’s home, unannounced, “Hi.”

“I let myself in,” Tom rubbed the back of his neck, “I figured that was alright.”

“It was. I sent you the key for a reason. Why are you here?”

“I was in town,” Tom leaned against the counter, lit up by the glow of the setting son. Greg remembered, all at once, why he’d fallen in love with him, “Business meeting. I thought it might be nice to come and see you. Wanted to see the ranch you spent so much Goddamn time fixing.”

Greg set his grocery bag down on the kitchen table, “Alright. Well. This is it.”

“It’s nice,” Tom ran a hand over the counter, “Looks solid. How long did it take you? I know you said, but I lost track.”

“Almost a year. I’m kind of shitty at it.”

Tom made a non-committal noise, “The roof’s not fucking collapsing. Have a little faith in yourself. It’s nice. I could live in a place like this.”

“Do you want dinner?” Greg asked, ignoring the painful, longing sting of Tom’s words. He was _not_ going to do anything more than be civil. Yes he’d sent Tom a key to the ranch but Tom was over a thousand miles away and _married_ and Greg had been drunk when he’d sent it anywhere. But here was Tom, in his dress clothes, with his shiny suitcase at his feet, staring at Greg like he’d just had lobsters crawling out of his ears.

“Sure,” Tom replied.

“Weather’s supposed to be shit tonight,” Greg began unpacking the bag, elbowing Tom out of his way until Tom sat politely at the kitchen table, “You ought to stay.”

“Do you have a guest room?”

“Yep,” Greg replied, “Chicken alright for dinner?”

Tom nodded, “Can I get a drink?”

Ignoring the question, Greg pulled two beers out of the fridge, cracked them open on the counter, and set one down for Tom. Why was Tom here? There were hotels in town, nicer hotels in the nearest city. Tom wouldn’t be paying for them himself if he was there on business like he said, and he’d have to have gone seriously out of his way to show up at Greg’s house.

In silence still, Greg made dinner. Tom made comments on some of the kitchen features and drank his beer. When dinner was made, Greg set down the plates and took the seat across from Tom.

“When did you get in?”

“This morning,” Tom picked up his fork, “I would have called, but I realized I didn’t have your number.”

“Oh,” Greg said.

“Yeah,” Tom said, a hint of…. something, in his tone, a something that Greg couldn’t _quite_ place, “Oh.”

***  
Tom knocked lightly on Greg’s bedroom door, pushing the door open as he did, but not stepping into the room. Greg propped himself up.

“What?”

“Can I talk to you?” Tom asked, “Out here? I need to talk to you.”

Sighing, Greg got up, and followed Tom out into the living room. 

“I’m not here on a business trip,” Tom said.

“Alright? No offense but that for sure could have waited until the morning.”

Tom waved a hand to silence him, “I’m not here on a business trip. I’m here because Shiv and I are getting a divorce. It’s all but signed. It’ll be official in maybe a month? I’m here because I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Good to know I’m still your last option.”

Tom shook his head, “That’s not what I fucking meant and you fucking know it. You know I don’t have any friends. Logan fired me before I’d even told my own parents about the divorce. I figured since you’d sent me your key—I figured I could come stay here.”

He really did look pathetic, Greg thought. Too thin. Dark circles under his eyes. Rumpled clothes. Like he was falling into an old version of himself he’d buried when he left home as a teenager. Greg had never met that version of Tom. Not really. He’d gotten glimpses that summer, sure, but if Tom’s facade was slipping so badly that Greg could see the cracks, then things must have really been bad. 

And in all likelihood he’s probably done the drive as straight through as possible. And Greg hadn’t exactly been welcoming. 

“I’m sorry you’re getting a divorce,” he said. 

“No you’re not,” Tom replied. It wasn’t nasty, like it should have been. Like Greg knew Tom could be. He was stating a fact-- and a correct one. Greg wasn’t all that sorry about the divorce, “and rightfully so. After everything I did. The way that I treated you. I don’t blame you for not being sorry.”

“You can stay here as long as you want to,” Greg said. It was strange to be able to offer something to Tom, who had always been the one to buy expensive dinners and things, “it’s plenty big enough for two people. I’ll clean out the guest room better tomorrow so you have closet space.”

“You sure you don’t mind?” 

“I don’t mind,” Greg said, “but I’m going back to sleep.”

“Goodnight,” Tom replied, sounding distinctly defeated. 

“Tom?”

“Yes?”

“Are you going to be alright?”

“I’m always alright,” he smiled, so forced Greg winced a bit, “When haven’t I been alright?”

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Greg said, “I’m not going to use it against you.”

“Fuck you Greg,” Tom sneered at him, “You’re always fuckng playing the bigger person aren’t you. Holier than thou Greg.”

“You don’t have to sleep here tonight. I didn’t build this house from the ground fucking up for you to come here and be an asshole to me. I’m not your punching bag.”

The light on the side table gave the room a dim and yellow light. Tom was red in the face from his anger, but Greg was not going to give in so easily. How _dare_ Tom show up here like Greg was running some wayward home for divorcees when he’d hardly even written in _months_. Greg crossed his arms but didn’t say anything else. 

“I’m desperate,” Tom said, his voice breaking a little bit, “Shiv and I were playing a game of who could make the other more miserable and we were both winning. I fucking _hate_ my life. I just want to be happy again. I didn’t know that was a Goddamn crime.”

“It’s a shitty bed in the guest room,” Greg replied, without commenting on Tom’s words, “You can sleep in my bed if you want.”

Tom blinked, “What?”

“It’s late. I’m tired. I want to go to sleep. I don’t want you to sulk for the rest of the night, so if you want to sleep somewhere that won’t give you reason to bitch at me in the morning, then you can sleep in my bed.”

“Alright,” Tom said, after what felt like several hours of silence.

***

Greg remembered falling asleep next to Tom, though their backs were turned against each other, curled around themselves. Tom had even gone so far as to place a pillow in between them, like they’d done those first few nights after the blackout and were no more than business associates. 

Like Greg’s heart didn’t ache every time he saw Tom’s face. Like Greg was incapable of falling in love with anybody else because Tom had such a firm grip on his heart.

In the morning-- the alarm clock on the nightstand told him it was just after nine. Tom must have shut the curtains when he woke up to keep the sun out. Tom apparently was still an early riser, the other side of the bed cold and the room empty. Greg pushed the covers off and went into the kitchen, where Tom was sipping coffee at the table with Harvey. 

“Good morning,” Tom smiled, his politician’s smile. That’s what Greg always called it. The smile he gave that Greg knew was fake, “Harvey was just telling me about some of the work you did on this house.”

“Hi Harvey,” Greg mumbled, pouring himself a cup of coffee, “This is Tom. We used to work together. He’s in town on business and came out to see me.”

“I heard,” Harvey raised his eyebrows, “I was sayin’ that I’ve never seen you have so much as a single friend over in the nearly year you’ve been here.”

Greg wanted to have it out with Tom. To figure out what, exactly, he was expecting from showing up at Greg’s unannounced. Greg wanted desperately, horribly for Tom to stay forever. He had asked it of Tom ages ago, and Tom had given him a firm no. And now that Tom could, potentially, stay, Greg didn’t know if he thought a yes would be good.

But Harvey was here, so Greg would have to feed him breakfast and send him off without raising too many questions. 

“What are you in town for?” Harvey asked, as Greg set out plates of eggs. Mostly he’d cooked in silence, neither Harvey nor Tom even attempting to make small talk. It was absolutely horrible. 

“I’m in the city actually on a business trip,” Tom picked up his fork when Greg sat down, “Greg wrote to me about the work he’d done, and since we spent a few months fixing up a ranch before, I wanted to see the work he’d done.”

“When was that?”

Greg frowned, “Three years ago now? I used to work down in Texas.”

“Maybe you can get him to be a little more social,” Harvey said, “I’ve never seen a man so content on avoiding anything.”

“Greg got his heart broken,” Tom said lightly, rolling his eyes, “You’d be hard pressed to get him to move on.”

“She really did a number on you?” Harvey asked, an almost parental tone to his voice, “Poor boy.”

“Yeah,” Greg’s frown deepened. He hated that Tom knew that, could say it so casually like it wasn’t Tom that did it. Maybe Tom had moved on, was really just there because he needed a friendly ear to listen to his story. Would that be worse? If Tom didn’t still, after three years, feel the way that Greg did? Didn’t his heart get broken too?


	4. you had some tricks up your sleeve (takes one to know one)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom's wedding reception takes a turn, and Greg wonders how long it can all last

_two_ years ago

The wedding reception was crowded and humid. Greg kept pulling at his collar in an attempt to stop feeling like he was being strangled, but it wasn’t helping much. He’d had a glass of wine too many, and switched to soda, but nothing was helping the gnawing feeling in his stomach that he needed to get into his truck and start driving until he hit either an ocean or a border. 

He wasn’t going to. 

“Hey,” Tom smiled, appearing beside him. Greg hadn’t seen him come up, to lost in his own thoughts. He snapped to attention.

“Hey man,” Greg smiled, “Happy wedding right?”

“Sure,” Tom said, and now, Greg could see the tightness in his shoulders, could _see_ the tension in his face, “It’s great.”

“What’s up?”

Tom glanced around, “I feel like I’m going crazy?”

“Why?” Greg called. The music had swelled a bit, and Greg hated how loud it was. He didn’t like parties all that much. Tom had called him antisocial twice since they’d met. Really, maybe he _should_ have left and driven until he couldn’t drive anymore.

“I’ll tell you about it sometime,” Tom replied, which wasn’t actually an answer at all, “Want to go upstairs?”

“Are you serious?” Greg asked, “I mean, I thought we were done with all that. When the wedding happened?”

“Things have changed since we last spoke about it,” Tom said, through clenched teeth, “Is that alright?”

“Yes,” Greg said, probably too quickly, “But right now? I mean, is it alright if we go upstairs?”

“It’s my reception,” Tom downed the rest of his wine, “And if I put your dick in my mouth, that’s up to us right? No one else?”

“Well,” Greg smiled, feeling sort of like a terrible person but sort of _good_ about it. It was secretive and wrong and would probably make him a murder target for Logan if he ever found out, but most of Greg’s risks hadn’t ended well. And maybe he hadn’t learned his lesson yet. Maybe he never would. Sometimes, things, or _people_ in this case were worth the risk, “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

“Do you mind continuing our little… arrangement?” Tom asked, rubbing the back of his neck, “If I’m married.”

“I’m alright with it. _I’m_ not married.”

He half expected Tom to shout at him for that comment, but he only laughed, rolled his eyes, and turned to go upstairs.

***

And then Greg had started living for stolen moments. Weekends when Shiv was out of town. He was praying for Logan to buy another shitty rundown ranch and send them away. The odds of that happening were slim, now that Tom had married into the family. Instead, they were out on big ranches, Greg at Tom’s heels, playing assistant and fucking _pining_ the entire time.

It wasn’t as bad as he thought playing mistress would have been. Tom seemed to like being around him. 

Asking Tom if he would pick Greg over Shiv was out of the question. The answer would be no. And why shouldn’t it be? Shiv had money and connections and everything that came along with it and Tom _loved_ her. Tom loved her like he’d never love Greg. Because what would Greg offer? Greg wasn’t a billionaire-- his grandfather was set to leave him some money, sure but it wasn’t the same. 

And Tom didn’t love Greg. That’s what it boiled down to and Greg knew it. He liked hooking up or taking Greg to fancy restaurants because Shiv left him alone for a few days but that wasn’t love. Greg had nothing to offer to win Tom’s affections. To make Tom choose him.

The months of Tom’s newlywed-ness flew by. There was no end in sight to their arrangement, not that Greg was complaining by any means. He was desperate for anything, knowing that one day, it would have to end. Hopefully before Shiv found out about them, even though Tom always told him not to worry about Shiv. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Tom asked. They were in a _hotel_ of all things, in the city, which made Greg feel kind of like a hooker, even though he hadn’t voiced that and it wasn’t like Tom had ever said anything like that, “You’ve been pissy all day.”

“I’m not pissy,” Greg said, laying back on the bed. He put out his cigarette and felt Tom sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Yes you are dipshit. What’s wrong with you?”

“How long can we do this Tom?”

“What do you mean?”

Greg sighed, “I mean you and me. This isn’t, like, sustainable is it? It can’t be. I don’t… I don’t want to be your last option when Shiv’s out of town.”

“Greg this isn’t something we can necessarily share with the fucking world.”

“No I know that,” Greg ran a hand over his face, “It’s fine.”

“It’s clearly _not_.”

“When are you going to leave me?” Greg asked. It wasn’t what he wanted to ask. He _wanted_ to ask if Tom was going to ruin him. If Tom knew that Greg wouldn’t be able to love anybody else like this for the rest of his life. That it was all bullshit compared to this feeling. The money and the job and the things Tom bought him-- he’d trade it all if Tom would leave Shiv for him. And wasn’t that fucking selfish as hell. Shiv was his cousin. Wasn’t family supposed to come first?

But what had Shiv or any of the Roys done shit for him. Tom, even though he was an asshole, was the only one who ever did anything for Greg.

“Come here honey,” Tom muttered, pulling Greg against him. Tom’s flannel was worn against his skin, soft and comforting. Tom’s arms were firm and safe, and Greg would have been fine with staying here forever, “I’m right here. Where am I going?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Greg muttered, but he didn’t elaborate. If Tom understood what Greg was talking about, he made no show of it, but Greg wasn’t going to explain. Maybe it was better that Tom didn’t know he was talking about the bigger picture, and not right now, “It doesn’t matter.”

Greg wished, very badly, he had the strength to get up and leave. Wished that Tom didn’t have such a Goddamn hold on him. 

***

Greg had always called his mother for advice. She usually told him what to do, but even now, when he considered himself all grown up, he sometimes needed it. 

Standing in the phone booth, the cord of the phone wrapped around his finger, Greg waited for his mother to pick up. It was late now, but just when he was about to give up and leave, he heard his mother answer. 

“Hello?”

“Hi Mom, it’s me.”

She sighed, “Hello Greg. What’s wrong?”

“I need you advice,” he said, tightening the cord around his finger, shifting his weight back and forth. Tom was, technically, waiting for him inside, but it wasn’t like they were on a date or anything, it was a Waystar dinner. Tom just always loitered around him at any event. Greg thought he was probably too nervous to hang around anybody else, “About, like, romance.”

“Why are you asking me this? What have you gotten yourself into?”

“I’m kind of having an affair?”

“Greg, how do you _kind of_ have an affair. You’re either having one or you aren’t,” she already sounded wary, and he obviously didn’t blame her. He shouldn't phrased it like that.

“Alright, I _am_ having an affair.”

She was silent. He thought they’d been cut off, but eventually heard her take a deep breath. She was either about to lay into him, or give him sage wisdom. It was probably a bit of both. 

“When did this start?”

“Uh,” Greg pulled at his sleeve, “A bit ago. Before Tom and Shiv’s wedding.”

“That’s a strange way to measure the start of your affair,” she said, in a knowing sort of way, “I thought you didn’t even like Tom. You said he was an asshole.”

“He is an asshole,” Greg said, “But I don’t know. It just happened.”

“Well what are you going to do about it?” she asked, and he could just picture her, standing in front of him, hands on her hips. _What are you going to do about it Greg_ , she would ask, when he handed over bad report card, or lost another job, or got another ticket or anything else he’d managed to fuck up in his life, “He’s married to your cousin. What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you love him?” she asked quietly, like she was bracing for the answer.

“I don’t know. Maybe. A little bit.”

“And does he love you?”

“Of course not,” he replied, “He’s married. He loves Shiv.”

“Then you either need to fall _out_ of love or you need to distance yourself from all of it. Get a transfer somewhere. You can’t torture yourself over him. He’s not worth it.”

Greg didn’t reply. He knew she was right, but he’d sort of been hoping she’d have a step by step guide telling him exactly what to do. Like this was something simple.

Someone knocked on the phone booth door, and Greg nearly jumped out of his skin. 

It was Tom, pointing to his watch, probably wondering why Greg was taking so long. 

“I gotta go,” he said quickly, “I’ll talk to you later.”

“You have to figure this out soon,” she said, “Goodnight Greg.”

He hung up with a definitive click and opened the door. 

“Who were you talking to? Should I be jealous?” Tom asked, smiling, proud of his little joke evidently.

“It was just my mom,” Greg said, “I was supposed to call her earlier and I forgot.”

“Guess you were a little distracted,” Tom laughed, “Are you coming back to this shit or am I supposed to suffer alone.”

“No I’m coming back inside,” Greg forced himself to smile. His mother was right. He had to make a decision sooner, rather than later. THe longer he waited, the harder it would be to leave, because he did have to leave. There was no way he could make himself fall out of love with Tom. Sure he could try and settle down with someone, but he knew, deep down somewhere, that Tom wasn’t going anywhere for him.

Did you just know, sometimes? That someone was who you wanted to be with forever? And he’d been right. Tom _was_ an asshole. But Goddamn it if Greg didn’t love him. Maybe sometimes the person you were meant to be with, or whatever bullshit there was about romance, just wasn’t meant to be with you?

But not tonight. He’d figure it out later. 

Hopefully.


	5. (now you hang from my lips) like the gardens of babylon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg tells Tom exactly how he feels.

_now_

The screen door slammed shut behind Greg as he stepped out into the humid evening air. Tom was striding across the dirt. Greg stood on the porch.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Greg called, “Why are you storming out of dinner?”

“What?”

“You don’t understand,” Greg ran a hand over his face, “I did _all_ of this for you. This house was what you wanted.”

“You think I wanted this from you?” Tom shot back. Behind him, the sun was setting, and the air was quickly cooling. Tom had gone outside first, and maybe Greg shouldn’t have followed him, but he had and it was too late now, “I said one thing, _years_ ago and what? You’ve been obsessing over it? I didn’t ask you to build a fucking house Greg. Most people buy already put together homes.”

“I didn’t even know that I was doing it at first. But I thought about the comments you’d make. When I was redoing the bathroom, I had to change the tile design because I thought you would think the colors would clash. I painted the kitchen yellow because you told me once you had a yellow kitchen growing up, but I didn’t even realize it until I had already done it. You fucking ruined me.”

“Oh and it’s _my_ fault? I was a thousand fucking miles away,” Tom motioned at the house, “Don’t fucking blame me for your fantasy life Greg. You left because you wanted to. I didn’t kidnap you and dump you here.”

“What was I going to do? Stay in Texas and we see each other what? A couple of times a month? Maybe once a week? How long could we have kept that up? You’d have children or move somewhere north with Shiv and then what? We see each other every few months? I _love_ you.”

“You shouldn’t have done that. We wouldn’t be in this shit in the first place if you hadn’t fucked up the arrangement.”

Greg shook his head, “I wish I didn’t. It’s ruining my life. The thing is though, that I would have stayed. I’d have lived on a weekend away every three months or whatever. I’d have done it just to see you. But I think it was killing me a little bit, each time.”

Tom blinked at him, “I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not. You don’t have to be sorry because you were right. I’m the one that fell in love with you and messed up the agreement. I’m the one who fucked it up. I couldn’t get you out of my head, like, the entire time I was working on this house. I sent you the key and prayed that you would use it and now that you’re here…. I don’t know what to say.”

The sun continued to sink. Greg thought that night came sooner out here than in the city, and with winter looming before them, that was even more true. Harvey had been right, about how quiet it was. How it was just a man and the star. Greg didn’t actually like the loneliness. He liked having people around, but it was safer that way, far from Texas and Waystar and the Roys. 

“I didn’t even know where I was driving,” Tom said. He glanced around, decided that the back step was a suitable seat, and he threw himself down, “I was halfway across Texas with my life in two suitcases and your letter with your return address on the dashboard before I realized that I had decided to come and see you.”

“Why now? Just because of the divorce?” Greg went to join him on the step as well, remembering the last time they’d sat on a stoop together, “You hardly wrote to me.”

“I didn’t know what to tell you,” Tom frowned, “I didn’t know what to say to you. I was so embarrassed and I _hate_ feeling like this. I thought I had a pretty good grip on my life.”

“What happened? With the divorce?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tom said, glancing up. Greg got the impression he was trying not to cry, and so Greg didn’t press, “I just thought we could be happy together. That I could make her happy. But I think I was a lot dumber than I realized. How can anybody ever hope to join the Roys? They’re basically royalty. I’ve never fit in with them Greg, and neither have you, I think. Maybe we were two fucking _interlopers_ together.”

“I’m glad that you’re here,” Greg said quietly, “I wanted you to come here so badly man, you have no idea. Everything about this house-- I kept hearing your voice in my head, like, _bitching_ at me that the paint clashed or whatever.”

“I shouldn't have said that to you, at the breakfast table. About having your heart broken. It was uncalled for,” Tom frowned, “It’s a beautiful house.”

“I know you’re a dick,” Greg said, bumping Tom’s knee with his own, “You mostly don’t mean it.”

“Mostly.”

“Let’s go inside,” Greg said, making the decision he knew Tom wouldn’t. Tom, who would sit out here all night if he was given the opportunity. He grew distant when upset, and Greg didn’t want him to be alone. He offered Tom a hand up, and after a moment, Tom accepted.

***

Greg cracked open a bottle of wine he found buried in the closet, and grabbed two glasses. Tom had _said_ he wanted to be alone, but when Greg sat down with him at the kitchen table, he hadn’t left. Greg poured the wine, and slid Tom’s glass over. 

“Do you think Shiv loved me?” Tom asked, examining the bottle, “This is shit wine.”

“I’m sure that she did. She wouldn’t marry you if she didn’t love you.”

“That’s logical,” Tom took a long sip of the wine, made a face, then took another sip, “I think you’re right. She did love me, once. But I don’t think we were right for each other. I do love her. Do you care that I love her?”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m asking you if you care that I still love Shiv even though we’re getting a divorce.”

“No? Why would I care? You were married. I’m pretty sure that my mother still loves my dad a bit, despite it all.”

Tom frowned, “Your dad’s an asshole.”

“You haven’t even met him,” Greg pointed out.

“I just know it. Can I stay here? If you don’t want me to, I’ll get a hotel somewhere. Tell me to fuck off if you want me to.”

“I want you to stay,” Greg admitted, “Because I love you.”

“No you don’t,” Tom replied, “You don’t love me. You don’t. Don’t fucking do that to yourself.”

“What?”

Tom shook his head, “I didn’t mean for you to fall in love with me Greg. I didn’t- you should have moved on. Found yourself a good, kind fucking cowboy or whatever. Why haven’t you found anybody else. You don’t want my love. Please, Greg, don’t do this.”

Greg stood up. He went to the other side of the table, bent down a bit, and, after a half a second of consideration, took Tom’s face in his hands and kissed him.

“This is the opposite of what I just said,” Tom muttered, but Greg thought he was hiding a smile. Maybe even a blush.

“Stop fucking talking,” Greg said and kissed him again, “You talk so much all the time.”

“That rich coming from you. You never shut up.”

“I love you,” Greg said firmly, “Even though I think you’re a huge asshole. I think you’re over dramatic and don’t have one single healthy coping skill in your big head. But I love you. I built you this house and if you want to stay here, you are welcome to.”

“You don’t even mean that.”

“ _Yes_ I do. Stay here. Even if it’s just for a little bit. If we don’t make it work-- then we tried you know? Will you stay?”

“Yes.”

Greg gently kissed his forehead.

“Don’t do that,” Tom muttered, pouting a bit, like a little kid. And then, much to Greg’s surprise, he pulled Greg against him, heaved a sob, and burst into tears, probably soaking through Greg’s shirt as he did. 

“Oh,” Greg said, “It’s alright. It’s alright.”

***

In the morning, Greg woke up slowly. He’d been living off the separation agreement money from Waystar, and his savings, and therefore had no job to wake him up early. He’d thought about getting a job in town at some point, but hadn’t gotten around to it. Now, he was thankful. He wanted nothing more than to stay in bed all day, and not have to go into a job where he would surely explode before the five o’clock bell rang. 

Last night was sort of blurry. He remembered it well enough, remembered shouting at Tom, remembered the wine, and the conversation but it all felt like sort of a dream. Tom had been crying, that he was pretty sure about, though it was the only time he could think that he’d ever really seen Tom cry. Tom who would probably have rather clawed out his own eyes than let _anybody_ see him cry.

He half expected to roll over, only for the other side of the bed to be empty, for Tom’s truck to be gone, and for nothing to have changed. 

But the other side of the bed _wasn’t_ empty. Tom was there, still asleep, which, Greg thought, was the only time he didn’t look upset. Given his light snoring, he was still deep asleep. Greg had invited him into bed again, and Tom had taken him up on the offer. They hadn’t done anything at all, but he remembered throwing an arm over Tom before he went to sleep, still red eyed and puffy cheeked. 

Carefully, Greg slipped out of bed and into the kitchen. He put on the coffee, occasionally popping back to the bedroom, but Tom was still asleep. He made the coffee in silence, setting Tom’s aside. He knew Tom pretty well-- at least he liked to think so-- and knew that the smell off coffee could usually wake him up, and since the house wasn’t all that big, the kitchen and bedroom weren’t that far apart. 

Much like he thought, Tom sauntered into the kitchen, accepted his mug of coffee carefully and slid into one of the kitchen chairs. 

“Sorry about last night,” he said, “Can you pretend you didn’t see that.”

“Sure,” Greg said, joining him at the table, “Is the coffee alright?”

“It’s fucking amazing.”

Greg chuckled, “I missed you so much Tom.”

“I missed you too,” Tom shut his eyes and drew a deep breath, “I missed you so much it hurt. I thought about the last time we talked, in my office, every day. I wanted to call you, to find you in the phone book or hunt down someone who might have had your number but I knew I’d just stand there and listen to you breathe on the other line as a reminder that I knew you.”

“What the fuck, that’s so fucking sappy,” Greg said.

Tom picked a napkin off the table, crumpled it up, and tossed it half heartedly across the table at Greg, “Shut it.”

“I’m not taking it back.”

Tom frowned, “Did you mean what you said? That we could try again? I swear to God, if you are fucking with me, I’ll never forgive you.”

“I’m not fucking with you. I wouldn’t do that to you. That’s definitely cruel and unusual punishment.”

“But why me?” Tom asked, “I mean, I’ve done nothing but be horrible to you. I said things to you, that afternoon in my office-- you shouldn’t forgive me.”

“But I do. Because I love you. Look, I know it’s kind of fucked up or whatever, but I think you’re a good person.”

“Gross,” Tom said, but Greg could see the smile hidden behind the coffee mug, “It’s going to be difficult. Your surrogate father or whatever Harvey is going to start to wonder why I haven’t left.”

Greg shrugged, “We’ll figure something out. I know, like, that it’ll be hard, but I think we can do it. I’m willing to try.”

“Me too,” Tom frowned, “I’m sorry. I just never had to-”

Greg put up a hand, “You don’t have to explain it to me. It’s alright. I think we can play it off, you and me. I don’t know. I don’t mind trying to figure it out.”

“And it’s not like we haven’t hidden it before right?” Tom reasoned, “Am I overthinking it? I mean this place is in the middle of fucking nowhere. I’m overthinking it.”

“You tend to do that.”

Tom, who Greg half expected to chuck another napkin across the table, smiled, “Yeah.”


	6. perched in the dark (telling all the rich folks anything they want to hear)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg breaks things off.

_eighteen months ago_

Greg went into Tom’s office without knocking. Tom looked up from his desk, probably thinking Greg was showing up to fool around in the middle of the work day, but Greg kept the entire length of the office between them, leaning on the door.

“Hey,” Tom smiled, “What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you,” Greg said. He knew this was the right choice, but it didn’t make it any easier, “It’s important.”

“Must be. What’s up?”

“I’m resigning,” Greg said firmly, “I don’t know if you need a notice or whatever, but I’m quitting and I thought I should tell you because you are, technically, my boss.”

“Alright,” Tom’s smile fell just a bit, confused as to where Greg was going, “That’s alright. I’m sure you can get another job around here. I’ll help you if you like. Make sure you’re taken care of.”

Greg shook his head, “I can’t- Tom I’m quitting and I’m leaving. Probably going to go back to Canada for a bit, until I can figure out what the hell I’m doing. I have to get out of Texas.”

“You’re _leaving?_ ” Tom asked softly and almost-- _almost_ \-- sadly, “Why?”

“I can’t keep doing it like this with you. Hidden. Secret. It’s driving me crazy.”

“Oh come on,” Tom rolled his eyes, like Greg was joking somehow, but when Greg stood firm, Tom straightened up, “You’re serious?”

“Yes,” Greg said. He pulled at his jacket sleeve and looked down at the wooden floor of Tom’s office. It was bright and sunny out, and Greg was mad the sun was shining today, when his life was falling apart, “I am.”

“Why?” Tom asked and there was genuine curiosity in his tone. Greg didn’t think he was stupid by any means, but _actually_ confused why Greg might be upset. 

“Would you leave Shiv for me?” Greg asked. He knew the answer, before Tom even said it, but he asked it anyway. 

“You’re joking,” Tom said, “You’re fucking joking.”

“I’m not. I’m serious. Would you leave her for me?”

“Of course not Greg. Don’t be fucking stupid. I can’t do that. This isn’t fucking fantasy land where I can just leave my wife for another man and we can…. What? Live out your domestic dream? It’s not realistic Greg. Don’t be stupid.”

“Yeah that’s me,” Greg said, numbly, “Stupid Greg.”

“I didn’t mean _that_ ,” Tom sighed and ran a hand over his face, “You’re fucking me over.”

“I’m doing you a favor,” Greg said, which is a quote from his mother, who had said those words exactly when Greg had called her last night to ask if he was doing the right thing, “I could have taken off in the middle of the night.”

“You’re… _breaking up_ with me?” Tom asked. Greg wondered if anybody had ever broken up with Tom before. He wasn’t handling it very well, even though they weren’t married or anything.

“I guess. We can still be friends, or something but I have to go.”

“Then _go_ ,” Tom hissed, “Get the fuck out.”

“I just wanted to tell you,” Greg said, and slipped out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him. He heard several loud noises, and thought that Tom was throwing shit around, but he resisted all of the urges to go back inside and make sure he was alright. He couldn’t do that. He had a point to prove. 

“Is everything alright in there?” Tom’s receptionist asked, glancing at Tom’s closed office door. 

“Oh yeah,” Greg took his coat off the rack, “He just got some bad news.”

***

Greg thought about the conversation the entire time he packed up his life. He had not spoken to Tom since Tom basically threw him out of his office. There were some things of Tom’s in his place, but he didn’t have the guts to call Tom to pick them up. He figured he could always just mail them back. It wasn’t much. A couple of shirts. A single belt that Tom had left in the bathroom a few weeks ago. A pair of boots kicked into the closet. He didn’t want to talk to Tom until there was a good distance between them.

He also thought about the conversation the entire drive to Canada. He knew that Tom wasn’t angry at him, exactly, but at the situation. His marriage with Shiv was not as he wanted it to be, that was clear, and maybe Greg was the only thing going right in his life, and what had Greg done? Ripped it out from under him. 

Halfway to Canada, at a truck stop in Wyoming, Greg slipped into a phone booth and dialed Tom’s number-- at some point he had memorized it, but didn’t know when. 

“Tom Wambsgans speaking,” he said, after a few rings.

Greg opened his mouth but shut it quickly before he could say anything. He would fuck it up or something. 

“Hello?” Tom said, “Are you still there? Can you hear me?”

There was a lot Greg wanted to say, mostly that he wasn’t mad at him, that he still loved him so much that it hurt him, and that he debated driving back to Texas in one shot all of the time. But he couldn’t say any of that, so it was better to just say nothing.

Greg shut his eyes, to keep the hot tears that were pooling from falling, and hung up, like the phone had bitten him. It would be the last time he would hear Tom’s voice for eighteen months-- not that he knew that at the time. He collected himself and got back in the car, cursing himself for being so childish. How stupid was he? To call Tom? What if Tom had figured out who he was? 

How _embarrassing_ would that have been?

He promised himself that he wasn’t going to call Tom again. Maybe a few letters, when he had an address that wasn’t his mothers, but that wasn’t going to be for a bit. Things would have settled down by then. At least he sure hoped that things would have settled down by then. He needed somewhere quiet, somewhere alone with his thoughts. 

Somewhere in Montana, where he planned to cross the Canadian border, he pulled over to the side of the road-- it was late morning, but a weekday, so the roads were pretty empty and he’d be unbothered-- put the car in park, and finally sobbed about it all. Actually, he’d been pretty good at holding it in. But now that he was almost in Canada, he felt like it was all real now. That he might never even see Tom again. Might never even hear his voice again. He had no idea how long it would be before he had some semblance of his life back. To his slight surprise, his mother had agreed to let him stay with her for as long as he needed to. 

He would probably take her up on that. He didn't want to find a new job, or a new life just yet.

It was too difficult to think about a life without Tom in it just now.


	7. (with your boots beneath my bed) forever is the sweetest con

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Greg think about the future.

_three months down the road_

Greg stomped the snow off his boots and pushed the door shut against the wind. The dim and warm lighting of the house was enough to make him feel better, even if he hadn’t warmed up yet. He peeled off his wet coat and scarf, and hung them up on the coat rack. 

Mondale, the puppy that Tom had brought home one afternoon when he was supposed to be out grocery shopping, and named it Minnesotan up and coming politician he was fond of, when Greg said to name him whatever Tom liked, darted around Greg, excited to see him. 

He was a tiny little thing. The runt of the litter, according to Tom, but he was growing fast. Greg had argued that a puppy was not on the shopping list he’d sent Tom into town with, but Mondale had grown on him incredibly quickly. He slept in their bed, even though he had his own bed, and was good company when Tom wasn’t home.

Greg bent down enough to scratch him behind the ear, “You lead the way.”

Mondale ran off, glancing back sometimes to see if Greg was following him into the kitchen, where Tom was cooking dinner. It smelled _amazing_ and Greg slid into the kitchen.

“Hey,” Tom smiled.

“My hands are freezing,” Greg said, and without anything else, went over and put his cold hands underneath Tom’s shirt, “That’s better.”

“You’re a jackass,” Tom replied, trying to pull himself out of Greg’s hands, “I’m going to hit you with this fucking spoon.”

Greg laughed and let Tom go, “Can I try some?”

“Yeah,” Tom got a spoonful of the dinner-- it looked like a pasta dish of some sort, “Here. Careful. It’s hot.”

He remembered all of the times he had begged the universe to give him something like this. Just Tom and a house, and now a dog. It was so simple and so wonderful and Greg didn’t know how he’d been allowed to have this.

“It’s good,” Greg announced, “When is it done? I’m starving.”

“In a few minutes. Sit down and feed Mondale would you?” Tom said, pointing with his spoon, “he’s been begging since I started cooking.”

“Sure. Come on Mondale. Let’s get you some dinner.”

Mondale trotted after Greg at the idea of food, and Greg got his food dish settled. He left Mondale to eat his dinner, and then got set to make a salad to go with the pasta. They didn’t need to talk, not really, and oftentimes enjoyed the quiet together, but Greg talked casually about the job interview he’d had at the hardware store with Al that afternoon-- he thought it had gone well.

“Of course it did,” Tom said, dumping the pasta into a bowl, and pausing on his way to the table to kiss Greg on the cheek, “You’ll get the job. I don’t know why you’re so worried.”

Greg finished the salad and they sat down, piling food onto their plates. Mondale, who had finished scarfing down his food, came to sit down at Greg’s feet, because Greg was a soft touch and usually gave him something to eat, even though Tom said that he shouldn’t have people food. 

“I wanted to ask you something,” Tom said, popping open the wine to pour out into their glasses.

“What is it?” Greg asked.

“I wanted to know what you thought about asking my parents to come and visit for Christmas. I know that this is your house-”

“It’s _your_ house,” Greg replied, because it was a bit of a joke now. At least on Greg’s part. Tom tried to insist that this was Greg’s house because he’d built it, and Greg always replied that Greg had built the house for Tom, therefore, it was _his_ house.

Tom smiled, “Whatever. We have the spare bedroom we could spruce up. I know they want to see it.”

“Do you think they’ll like me?” Greg asked. He used Tom’s brief distraction of sipping his wine to drop another carrot on the floor for Mondale. He felt wary at the idea of meeting Tom’s parents, who knew about him, apparently, but who Greg had never even spoken to on the phone. But he knew how important Tom’s parents were, how badly he wanted to spend the holidays with him.

“Why wouldn’t they?” Tom asked.

“Well, I mean, I’m not Shiv.”

Tom shook his head, “They’ll like you.”

“You think so?”

“I do. I know so. Don’t worry about it.”

“You should invite them,” Greg nodded, taking another bite of pasta, “I think it would be nice.”

“You’d be alright skipping out on Canada for Christmas?”

Greg nodded, “We can go another time. Besides, it’s not… we’re not very festive. Grandpa doesn’t like celebrating much of anything.”

“We could also invite Marianne,” Tom offered. Unlike Greg, Tom _had_ met Greg’s mother, because she’d shown up unannounced a month ago because she was worried about Greg. Tom had answered the door, and after about ten minutes of confusion, Greg sat her down to explain it. Tom insisted Marianne didn’t like him, but Greg knew otherwise. Marianne _did_ like Tom, she was just protective, “Make it a real family affair.”

“You think we’re capable of hosting Christmas?”

“Sure we are,” Tom nodded, “It’ll be a real christening for the house, to host our families. We’ll be a real family now. Would that be alright?”

Greg nodded, “Yeah. It would be.”

“I think,” Tom sighed, and held out a hand for Greg to take. When Greg did, he squeezed affectionately, “No, I _know_ that I’d like to spend forever with you. And I also know I have to earn that, after everything.”

“No you don’t.”

“ _Yes_ I do. Shut up, you know I’m right.”

***

Soon it would be too cold to sit out in the evenings, but with a jacket and a blanket, it was still manageable. They took the wine bottle from dinner, put Mondale’s collar on him-- even though Greg was fairly certain he wouldn’t get away. He liked sitting on laps too much to bother-- and set up on the front back porch. Mondale jumped onto Greg’s lap.

“Traitor,” Tom muttered, taking a sip of wine from the bottle.

“I’m the one that gives him the good food,” Greg replied, “It’s only logical he likes me more.”

“Bullshit,” Tom offered the bottle and Greg accepted, “It’s so clear out tonight. Like you could see all the way across the galaxy if you tried hard enough.”

“Hey Tom?”

“Hmm.”

“If we could get married, would you want to?”

Tom looked over at him, “Are you serious?”

Greg nodded, and Mondale nuzzled down deeper into the blanket on Greg’s lap, “I know we can’t. But if we could.”

“Yeah I think I would want to,” Tom said. Greg hadn’t given much consideration to asking the question, and he knew it could have upset Tom. He was glad it didn’t though, “You know. Spend forever with you or whatever.”

“You just like me for the house,” Greg said.

Tom glanced back, “It’s definitely a bonus, I will admit. I can’t believe you fucking did this. For _me_ of all the fucking people in the world.”

“I told you that I love you,” Greg said, rolling his eyes, “I don’t know what’s so like, surprising about this. The summer that you and I fixed up that ranch-- I’ve never felt like that before. I’ve never loved anybody like I love you.”

“Oh shut up,” Tom said, and took the bottle back. He could see Tom reddening, even in the dim light. Greg had discovered that Tom was capable of blushing, and getting flustered, he just hit it nicely behind a layer of pretending not to like hearing things like that. 

“Forever sounds kind of nice,” Greg said.

Tom didn’t reply right away. That was alright. Greg liked the silence, liked the dark, liked Tom just _being_ there.

“Forever sounds _very_ nice,” Tom finally said.


End file.
